


like the land split by sea

by Anonymous



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Paranoia, Soft Boys, protective!ryan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 02:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14154513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The dreams were more frequent than he’d ever admit.





	like the land split by sea

**Author's Note:**

> I don't...know what this is? Um...yeah. Literally have never written RPF in my life but HERE WE ARE. 
> 
> Based off these [tweets.](https://twitter.com/shalexandej/status/972169977536045056)
> 
> CW: blood, discussions of death, anxiety, nightmares, little bit of ghostly horror

 

The light setting behind the trees wasn’t cinematic by any means; the haze of pollution and humidity flattened the sun into shades of mustard and slate, the angle casting odd, distorted shadows across the frame. TJ cursed under his breath as he wandered the property, looking for decent b-roll. 

Still — the sight of sunset sent chills down Ryan’s spine. Could Shane hear his thoughts, he might’ve quipped that a man under a bed sheet rattling chains in broad daylight could chill Ryan to the core, but this was different. There was an unsettling beauty in the dying light, like the seconds in a nature documentary just before a lion rips out the throat of her prey. 

_ Morbid, _ Ryan thought, shaking his head to rid himself of such thoughts.  _ You sound like- well. Morbid.  _

“Spooky place, huh?” Shane asked around a large bite of granola bar. If he didn’t love the big doofus so much, Ryan would be tempted to smack the food out of his hand just to see the smug look fall from Shane’s face. 

“Nah,” Ryan replied, shrugging too casually. “It’s- y’know. Whatever.” 

“Sure.” Shane laughed softly and shoved the rest of the granola bar into his mouth. “Wha-eber.” 

“Come on,” Ryan said, shaking his head fondly. “I wanna do a walkthrough before it gets dark.” 

“Before it gets  _ spooky? _ ” 

“Shut up.” 

  
  


* * *

 

 

The dreams were more frequent than he’d ever admit. 

Ryan did not consider himself a particularly emotional man. Sure, he loved his friends and family and, sure, he was terrified of ghosts and demons and other things that lurked in the shadows, but even Shane was quicker to shed a tear during a sad movie or in a happy moment than he was. So it was surprising, to say the least, just how  _ fucking _ often Ryan woke up screaming. 

Why was it  _ always _ Shane? Very rarely did Ryan dream the deaths of his family, of his girlfriend, of any of the other people he loved. But Shane? 

He’d watched Shane die too many times for one lifetime. 

Once, in a fit of panic, Ryan had slipped out of bed and called Shane from the parking lot of his apartment complex, hardly calmed by the warmth of the Los Angeles night. Shane answered, surprisingly, and laughed, asking if Ryan was drunk. Ryan had said yes, said he just wanted to make sure Shane was okay, said- said something stupid about Shane’s height, and then had hung up before Shane could hear the tremor in his voice. And Ryan just stood in the parking lot for nearly an hour, staring silently at the CALL ENDED screen of his phone, before he dragged himself back to bed. 

 

* * *

 

  
  


By the time they finished walking through the abandoned house, the sun had fully set, casting the woods around them into uneasy dusk. 

_ The lion’s killed _ , Ryan couldn’t help but think.  _ So what comes after? _

Only crickets and Shane’s distant laughter answered his question, and Ryan steeled himself for the evening ahead of him. 

 

* * *

 

 

“There are  _ types _ of ghosts?” 

Shane was staring at him incredulously, like Ryan had just admitted to thinking mint chocolate chip was a better ice cream flavor than rocky road. (Which — okay, they’d been down that road before and it hadn’t been pretty.)

“That’s like asking if there are types of dogs, dude,” Ryan shot back. 

“Okay, but dogs are  _ real-” _

“Debatable. Anyway, yeah, there are poltergeists, full-bodied apparitions-”

“ _ Debatable _ ?! Christ, Ryan, what-”

“-intelligent hauntings, residual hauntings, fetches, lurkers, women in white, wraiths, shadow people, orbs-”

Shane coughed loudly. “ _ Dust and bugs _ .” 

“ _ My point is _ ,” Ryan all but shouted, standing up from his desk to make a point. “There’s more than one kind of ghost.” 

The look Shane cast him was simultaneously disgusted and amused. A long, tense silence fell between them, broken only by the sounds of their coworkers milling around and chatting. Eventually, Shane drew in a breath and asked, almost reluctantly, “What about demons? What kinda flavors do  _ they _ come in?” 

Ryan wheezed out a laugh and grinned, pulling up the multitude of bookmarks he had on the subject, and let Shane roast him, God, and the entire field of demonology. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hoo, boy, look at this place,” Shane said, whistling cartoonishly. “If we aren’t careful, I think the three of us could become the next ghosts haunting this piece of shit.”

He wasn’t kidding. The mansion, though technically deemed safe for private tours and ghost hunters, had definitely seen better days. Debris littered the ground and several windows were nothing more than displays of broken glass. The floor creaked ominously as Ryan led the way inside, knuckles whitening as he gripped the flashlight to keep it from shaking. 

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan snapped. It came out harsher than intended, as the anxiety welled up in Ryan’s chest and clutched at his lungs, but Shane didn’t seemed fazed. 

“So where do I get to hear the harrowing tales of death and dismay?” Shane asked, scratching at his nose like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Ooh, that  _ grand staircase _ is pretty haunted-looking. Very Disney.”

“Good call,” Ryan said, throat tight and dry. “We can sit there for the notes. Lights?” 

“I’ll get ‘em,” Shane said. “They’re in the hall.” 

“Cool, I’ll get my notes…” Ryan trailed off, heart leaping from his chest as Shane disappeared around the corner. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but think of the hundreds of ways Shane could be killed in that moment, veering headfirst into the most absurd, most unlikely, most horrifying-

“Ry? You good?” 

Shane had returned, gear resting neatly at his feet. TJ had begun unpacking, shoving Shane out of the way with his shoulder, but Shane didn’t look away from Ryan, brows crinkled together in budding concern. 

“Uh, yeah,” Ryan said, swallowing back the bile that had risen in his throat. “Let’s just get this over with. I don’t like this place.” 

“See a ghosty already?” Shane teased, kicking lightly at Ryan’s shin. “The moon isn’t even out yet.” 

“Shut up,” Ryan muttered, smiling despite himself. “Go set shit up or you’re not getting paid.” 

“Yes  _ sir _ ,” Shane said with a mock salute, and the tension in Ryan’s chest eased into a soft warmth. “Wouldn’t it be nice if the ghosts and ghouls would help a guy out, set up some lights, fetch us a coffee or something? Yeah, I’m talking to you, creepy mansion ghosts.” 

Ryan laughed and got to work. 

 

* * *

 

 

Anxiety? A fucking bitch. 

Night terrors? Even worse. 

But this —this new, restless paranoia that raked its claws down Ryan’s vertebrae and poured poison into his ears as he slept? This gnawing, biting, growing fear that Shane would die at the hands of some evil, paranormal  _ thing _ ? 

Ryan would rather forfeit sleep for the rest of his life than face those dreams. But neither, it seemed, was an option for him, and the bitter cycle continued.

 

* * *

 

 

“Is this where we’re doing individual sessions?” Shane asked, peering down into dark, damp basement. “Looks like a good time down there.” 

Ryan bit back a whine. “Yeah- yeah. I’ll go first.” 

Shane’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “You sure?” 

“Yeah.”

“Wow.” Shane gave him an appreciative look. “Bergara’s gettin’ brave. I’m proud.” 

“Fuck you,” Ryan laughed. He sobered quickly, however, and squared his shoulders, preparing for the lonely descent into the pitch black room. “Alright. Okay. Let’s do this.” 

“You got it, buddy,” Shane said, flashing him a thumbs-up. “We’ll be right up here, awaiting your screams of terror.” 

“I hate you. Go do something useful, longlegs.”

Shane laughed and pushed him towards the stairs. Ryan stumbled a little, but took the stairs with a newfound sense of confidence. He’d show that asshole screams of terror.  _ Dick _ . 

The door closed behind him and Ryan was suddenly alone on the stairs, the only source of light the feeble, solitary beam of his flashlight. 

Ryan swallowed roughly and continued down, ignoring the pounding of his heart against his chest. 

 

* * *

 

“I had another dream about you dying.” 

It wasn’t the smoothest opening line, but Ryan applauded himself for the casual tone of his voice. It wasn’t that he  _ wanted _ to discuss the dreams with Shane—or anyone, really—but there was only a certain number of times you could dream about someone before it felt intrusive  _ not _ to tell them about it.  

Shane, to his credit, only looked surprised as he processed this information. Ryan had envisioned horror, disgust, even anger, but Shane’s voice was even as he asked, “How often is this happening?” 

“Pretty often,” Ryan admitted with a small shrug. He didn’t meet Shane’s gaze as he began unpacking his bag, pulling out his notes and laptop. 

“O...Okay.” Shane took a long sip of coffee, brows furrowing. “I- I gotta ask.” 

Ryan braced himself for the worst of the worst, for the rage and hurt and horror. Instead, Shane leaned across his desk and asked, voice hushed, “You’re not...you’re not  _ murdering _ me in these dreams, right?” 

Ryan choked. “ _ Jesus Christ, no _ !” 

Shane grinned. “Good. Good.” 

“ _ Christ _ ,” Ryan continued. “What kind of friend- what kind of  _ person _ do you think I am?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Shane said, hands raised placatingly. “You looked so serious, I thought maybe-”

“It’s always, like, fucking demons, man,” Ryan half-shouted. “I’m not- not, like, having fucking wet dreams about cutting your head off!” 

It was then that he realized the office around him had gone pretty silent. Most people looked close to laughing, though a few varied between concerned and irritated. Shane’s eyes had grown wide, and he whispered a small, impressed, “ _ Woah.” _

“Shut up, man,” Ryan muttered, turning back to his work. “I wouldn’t murder you.”

“Aw,” Shane said, raising his coffee like a toast. “Love you too, buddy.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“Are there any spirits with me right now?” Ryan asked, crouched next to his recorder. He’d forgone the ghost box, mostly because he preferred using it when he could annoy Shane the most, and had fallen back on the tried-and-true EVP. “Can you tell me your name?” 

The silence of the basement was suffocating. This house was more secluded than most of their locations, surrounded on all sides by miles of woods. No car horns, no passerby, no sirens polluted the thick, tense quiet of the night; Ryan couldn’t even hear the boys just up the stairs. Ryan was, for all intents and purposes, very much alone. 

Or so he thought. 

“Did you die in this house?” Ryan asked, rubbing at the back of his neck where the hair had prickled. “Were you murdered here?” 

“ _ Ry…”  _

Ryan startled. “H-Hello?” 

_ “Ryan _ …” 

“What the fuck,  _ what the fuck _ ?!” Ryan sprang to his feet, flashlight raised. “Who the fuck is there?”

The beam of light bounced off a familiar head of mousy hair and Ryan nearly doubled over with relief. “Shane, that’s  _ not _ fucking funny!” 

_ “Ryan...help…me…” _

Ryan focused the light, heart skipping a beat, and dropped the flashlight altogether when he saw the pool of blood under Shane’s quivering form. 

_ “Help...me... _ ” 

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you think we should, like, learn first aid or some shit?” 

It was a week before the latest season of  _ Supernatural  _ began filming and Ryan and Shane were three beers into happy hour. Friends and co-workers mingled around two tables on the far side of the bar’s patio, and an intense debate (hotdogs versus hamburgers as America’s national dish) had overtaken most of the conversations. 

“For  _ Unsolved  _ or in general?” Shane asked, eyes growing sleepier and more unfocused with every sip of his drink.  

“For the show,” Ryan admitted, feeling stupid now that he’d said it out loud. “I just...I worry.” 

“No shit.” 

Ryan punched Shane’s arm. “No, I mean, what if one of us falls down some stairs or down a cliff or something? We run around in the dark a  _ lot _ . One of us could get hurt.” 

Shane laughed, not unkindly, and shook his head. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll keep you safe.”

Ryan rolled his eyes and sighed. Maybe this hadn’t been the best place to bring this up. 

“Thanks,” he grumbled into his beer. 

“S’what friends are for,” Shane continued cheerily. “Scaring off ghoulies and keeping each other from dying.” 

Ryan snorted. “I’ll drink to that.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“Shane? What happened? Are you okay?” 

Ryan was frozen to the spot in terror, watching helplessly as Shane struggled to his feet, blood streaming from a gash in his abdomen. His skin had gone deathly pale, the circles under his eyes unnaturally dark. Blood dribbled from his mouth as he spoke, voice raspy and distant. 

“ _ Why...why didn’t you save me…?” _

“What? Save you? Save you from what?” 

Shane — _ Jesus Christ— _ Shane motioned to himself, a sad smile stretching across his face. “ _ You knew this would happen. You knew something would happen to me. Your dreams... _ ”

All the air left Ryan’s lungs in a painful rush, and then his knees were crashing to the basement floor. This was too much, this was all too much. 

Why hadn’t he noticed that Shane’s feet weren’t touching the ground?

“No,” Ryan breathed. “No! You can’t- you were  _ fine _ ! What-?  _ How _ ?” 

Shane laughed, soft and empty. “ _ Take your pick _ _ —you saw them all, all the ways. Maybe I fell through rotten floorboards; maybe I finally pushed a demon too far. Maybe I meant for it to happen. Maybe you killed me. _ ” 

“ _ No _ .” Ryan braced his hands on the ground, body shaking uncontrollably. “I didn’t- I wouldn’t-” 

“ _ But you did. _ ” 

The first, hot tears spilled over Ryan’s cheeks and he let his body collapse against the cold, damp floor. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Tell me more about these ghost flavors.” 

Ryan looked up from his research, grimacing. “Don’t call them that, dude.” 

Shane just shrugged and looked expectantly at Ryan until Ryan sighed and leaned back in his chair, work abandoned. “What do you want to know?” 

“There were a couple types you mentioned before that I hadn’t heard of. Like- oh, what was it? A fetch? That sounds straight out of  _ Mean Girls _ .” 

“Oh, okay, yeah.” Ryan straightened a bit, tucking one leg under himself. “So a Fetch is a bit of a trickster, you know? It can appear as someone you know or something you fear-”

“Like a boggart?” Shane asked cheekily. “Are we in  _ Harry Potter _ ?”

“Shut up, no. I mean, yeah, it’s a little like a boggart. Okay. It’s a boggart. But it’s a ghost!”

“Sure.” Shane shook his head fondly. “Sounds more like a demon, but sure.” 

“Well you  _ look _ more like a demon but what can you do?” Ryan snapped, barely holding back laughter. Shane kicked his chair, nearly tossing Ryan out of it, and they bickered like that for several more minutes until Shane was pulled away. 

_ Ghost flavors _ , Ryan thought, snorting softly.  _ What an idiot _ . 

 

* * *

 

Shane was dead. 

Shane was  _ dead _ .

And it was all Ryan’s fault. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you think there’s something after- after all this?” 

They were the only two left at happy hour, the sun sinking low on the horizon. Ryan felt warm and heavy and content from the alcohol in his veins, and he giggled as he watched Shane move and think and speak slowly. 

_ He looks like a giant sloth _ , was all Ryan’s beer brain could think. 

“Nah,” Shane said after a moment. “Nah. I think- this is probably it.” 

Ryan frowned. “Doesn’t that...scare you?” 

Shane shrugged, the movement sloppy and rough. “Nah. It used to but. When it’s over it’s over, y’know?” 

“I guess.” Ryan sipped at his water, something tight settling in the pit of his stomach. “I’d miss you if you died.” 

Shane snorted in surprise, beer dribbling out of his mouth. He set down his glass and laughed harder. “Thanks, little guy. I’d miss you, too. If I died.” 

“How would  _ you _ miss  _ me _ ?” Ryan asked. “You’d be dead!” 

Shane shrugged. “I’d find a way.” 

Ryan laughed and shook his head. “Dummy.” 

 

* * *

 

“Ryan?  _ Fuck- shit _ \-  _ Ryan?! _ ” 

Ryan looked up, dazed, to meet Shane’s very worried gaze, suddenly very close to his own face. “Am...did I die, too?” 

“What? Fuck, man, no, but you’re bleeding- c’mon, get up, your arm’s cut all nasty.” Shane hauled Ryan to his feet, and Ryan couldn’t help but lean into Shane’s warmth. Warmth meant blood and blood meant life and  _ life _ meant  _ Shane was alive _ . 

Ryan was more unsteady than he thought, however, and all but dove face-first into Shane’s chest. Shane yelped and grabbed him tightly, as if Ryan might fall over again at any second. “Maybe we should take you to the hospital…” 

“I’m okay,” Ryan said, words muffled against Shane’s shirt. “Just...just tired.” 

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Shane said, guilt seeping into his tone as they ascended the stairs. “The door was jammed for, like, half an hour. We had to fucking find a toolkit and take it off its hinges.”

“You took down a door for me?” Ryan asked, trying and failing to focus his eyes on Shane’s face. 

“Well, yeah, buddy,” Shane said. “You wouldn’t respond to us. I got scared.” 

“You should’ve- shoulda kicked down the door,” Ryan joked, but his voice was weak enough that Shane only smiled. 

“I tried,” he admitted, leading Ryan to the landing and down the hall. “I’m, uh. Not that strong.” 

“Aww.” Ryan tried to pout but he was so tired, it came out more of a grimace. “How did I cut my arm?” 

They crossed over the threshold of the house, Shane barely keeping Ryan upright, and the cool, evening air that hit Ryan’s face was the most refreshing, beautiful thing in the world. He breathed in deeply, letting his eyes close as Shane steered him to the car. 

“I don’t really know,” Shane said. “I mean, there was a broken-down metal bed frame that you definitely fell on, but I don’t know  _ how _ you fell on it. Did you see something? Low blood sugar? Faint for no reason?” 

As Shane pulled open the passenger side door, the memories of that evening came rushing back to Ryan like a suckerpunch to the gut. He gasped, stumbling backward, and Shane barely caught him in time. Without a word, Shane hoisted Ryan into the car, face serious, and reached for the first aid kit Ryan had insisted on buying. 

“I...I saw something,” Ryan said quietly, wincing as Shane pulled back his sleeve to clean the wound. It was long but not deep, thankfully, and Shane worked on it clumsily as Ryan continued speaking. “It- Maybe I hit my head, but I think...I think I saw a Fetch.” 

“The boggart?” Shane asked, but there was no mirth in his tone. 

“Yeah.” Ryan took a shaky breath. “I saw- I saw you. Dead. A ghost.” 

Shane looked up at him, eyes sad, mouth twisted in concern. “I really think we should take you to the hospital.” 

“I’m not crazy.” 

“I’m not saying that,” Shane murmured. “But you  _ did _ faint.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Are you?” Shane pulled back, something akin to anger seeping into his voice. “This isn’t just dreams anymore, Ry. You’re seeing these things in real life and that- no matter if it’s hallucinations or a goddamn ghost or whatever, that’s- that’s bad. That’s...that sounds terrifying. If I kept seeing you die, I think I’d have lost my mind by now.” 

“Oh.” Ryan ignored the lump growing in his throat and blamed the pain of his arm for the bleariness of his eyes. “Y-Yeah. I- I see what you mean.”

“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?” Shane asked, pulling a bandage from the kit. “You can’t get rid of me  _ that _ easily.” 

“Oh, darn,” Ryan deadpanned. “Yeah, I know. I just...can’t stop these thoughts.”

“I know,” Shane said kindly, smoothing down the bandage on Ryan’s arm. “Will you let me take you to hospital now? I think you hit your head, there’s a bruise forming that’s making me nervous.” 

Ryan reached up to touch his scalp and instantly regretted it. “F- yeah, yeah. Take me to the hospital. Fuck.”

“I’ll go find TJ, he’s got the keys,” Shane said, clapping Ryan on the shoulder. “Don’t fall out of the car while I’m gone.”

“I’ll try,” Ryan said, watching as Shane jogged off, back towards that awful, evil house. But though his chest clenched with nerves at the sight, Ryan knew Shane would be okay. He’d proven—they’d  _ both _ proven—that there wasn’t any ugly dead motherfucker in the universe that could take them on. 

 

* * *

 

 

After the hospital had cleared him of a concussion and jabbed a tetanus shot in his arm, Ryan made it back to the motel with Shane and TJ, the latter of whom was asleep before he could even change out of his clothes. Ryan forced Shane to help him out of his shirt, arm too sore to move, then wriggled out of his jeans half heartedly and fell back onto the bed, more exhausted than he’d ever felt in his life. 

Shane, unlike the other two, managed to change into pajamas, but bypassed the rest of his nightly routine to collapse onto the bed next to Ryan, face buried in a pillow. He let out a long, muffled sigh, then turned to look at Ryan. 

“Today was something, huh?” He asked, too tired to even try one of his goofy voices. Ryan still found himself smiling. 

“That it was,” he replied. “Thanks for unhinging a door for me.” 

“Thanks for not cracking your head open,” Shane said, half-smiling. “And, weird as it is to say, thanks for worrying about me.” 

Ryan looked away, embarrassed. “You don’t believe I saw a Fetch.” 

“I mean, I don’t know,” Shane said softly. “I believe you saw something. And it  _ is _ fishy that your camera stopped working. So...maybe?”

“You’re admitting the possibility-?”

“Yeah, yeah, there’s a chance you saw a ghost,” Shane said, dismissively waving his hand. Then, with a frown, he added, “I’m sorry you saw- whatever it is you saw.” 

Ryan closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “Yeah. Me, too.” 

He was startled into opening his eyes again when Shane took his hand, reaching out across the weird, paisley bedspread. They didn’t say anything, didn’t try to break the moment, just laid there with their hands clasped tightly. 

Shane fell asleep first, glasses still on, snoring softly into the pillow. Ryan didn’t let go of his hand, though, didn’t move a muscle as he let himself drift to sleep, soothed by the presence of his friend. 

For the first night in a long time, Ryan dreamt of Shane, alive and well and safe. 


End file.
